


I Know Places

by Elizabeth Watson-Holmes (edye327)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Angst, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, johnlock oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3667119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edye327/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Watson-Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angst with a happy ending. Celebrity Sherlock Holmes' relationship with college rugby star John Watson is threatened and ostracized by media backlash. Fortunate for them, Sherlock knows places they can't be found.</p><p>  <i>It seems a crime, and it shouldn’t be. They stand in line for ice cream at the beach, skin sun-warmed and toes sand-gritty. Sherlock has his arm on John’s waistline, tightening his grip as they are thrown glances and glares and whispers erupt around them.</i></p><p>  <i>John gives an apologetic smile as he pulls away and Sherlock’s heart goes cold.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I threw out my back three days ago and have been on bedrest and muscle relaxants ever since. So... this happened. 
> 
> Sorry (not sorry) for the fact that half my fics are inspired by Taylor Swift songs. This is an excellent song, by the way, and it immediately made me think of a forbidden Johnlock type fic.
> 
> Edit: If you haven't heard the song, [here are the lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/taylorswift/iknowplaces.html) as I refer to many of them in the fic and they may sound out of place otherwise.

They’ve been together for three months when the comments start. It’s a vicious tidal wave, wearing down on what they’ve grown together for so long. John’s brow is furrowed, shoulders tense, and all Sherlock can do is enfold him in shaking, needing, wanting arms and bury his face in his neck and hold.

•

It seems a crime, and it shouldn’t be. They stand in line for ice cream at the beach, skin sun-warmed and toes sand-gritty. Sherlock has his arm on John’s waistline, tightening his grip as they are thrown glances and glares and whispers erupt around them.

John gives an apologetic smile as he pulls away and Sherlock’s heart goes cold.

•

They are foxes. The world hunts them with hounds and boxes and hateful words that spew like poison. That Sherlock Holmes, minor celebrity, would “turn gay” and date the star of a college rugby team, is the most scandalous news the nation has seen in years. John’s modest music videos accumulate thousands, millions, of hits, and he is offered a contract with a record label, but he says no. He cannot handle being in the limelight any more than he is now.

•

Paparazzi follow them everywhere they go. John will no longer hold Sherlock’s hand in public.

•

“I love you,” Sherlock whispers.

“I love you too,” John says, and he does.

“I am afraid... I may not be enough.”

“That’s ridiculous,” John huffs, and kisses Sherlock. “We’re bulletproof.”

“I doubt that very much.”

John kisses Sherlock again, adoring and loving and certain. “You know for me, it’s always you.”

Sherlock smiles.

•

_In the dead of night, your eyes so green // and I know for you it's always me..._

•

It’s the worst it’s ever been. One minute they’re having a late dinner at a thankfully quiet restaurant; the next, lights flash and they run for the fences across the street. John has never been more terrified. Sherlock grabs his hand and pulls him over the gate as they run panting through the darkened meadow until they cannot hear the cameras clicking. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, cradling John in his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

•

“I need your help,” Sherlock tells Harry. She casts him a dubious look.

“You’ve ruined my brother’s life.”

Sherlock cringes. “I know.”

“He loves you though,” she says. “God, but he loves you.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “That I... I don’t know about that.”

Harry traces a finger around the rim of her glass. “Well, I do.” She pauses, then asks, “What do you need help with?”

•

Loose lips sink ships. This is what John knows, and this is why he stands numbly in the centre of the room, staring at the glow of his screen. Jim Moriarty. That’s who had told. That’s who spread the rumours. That’s who John very much wants to punch.

He fears he may vomit but instead falls into a fitful sleep, and it is only when the comforting weight of Sherlock slips in behind him and those long arms envelop his body that John can breathe again.

•

“Please,” Sherlock pleads.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll do anything. Just... make it stop.”

Mycroft gives a sigh. “This is tiresome,” he confesses, “and emotionally... draining. I cannot pretend to understand what it is you are going through, but you...” He looks bemused. It doesn’t suit him. “I will see what I can do.”

•

Sherlock comes up behind John, who is gazing out the window, knuckles gripping the sill. He wraps his arms snug around John’s waist, and has no doubt that this is meant to be. John leans back against Sherlock’s bony shoulder and hangs onto his forearms.

“I know places we won’t be found,” Sherlock murmurs. “I know places we can hide. Mycroft has made arrangements.”

John draws away and turns to face Sherlock, his own arms falling into place at Sherlock’s waist. “What?” he asks.

“I know places,” Sherlock repeats. “We... it will be dramatic. We will simply fall off the map, so to speak. It is less than ideal, but I don’t think either of us is able to continue in this way.” He falters. “If you are amenable. Harry, Mycroft, Mike, Molly, Mrs Hudson, and Greg will all know where to find us. As well as anybody else with whom you wish to remain in contact. However. This must all be very... surreptitious. The less people know, the better.”

John’s looking at him searchingly and Sherlock wills his features not to belie the terror he’s feeling. “Is this what you want?” John asks quietly.

“Yes,” Sherlock admits. “It is selfish and abhorrent, but this is what I want. To hide. With you. Indefinitely. You will be pulled from your friends and –”

“I’ll do it,” John says firmly, and kisses Sherlock, burying his hands under Sherlock’s jacket and pulling him closer.

•

It’s a small town full of smiling people who couldn’t care less about Sherlock Holmes living amongst them. They know of his fame, of course, but keep a respectful distance. Mrs Hudson, Sherlock’s old landlady, mails them biscuits.

It takes time. But then the lines of John’s shoulders relax and he looks at Sherlock without fear and they hold hands in public and nobody gives them a second look. Greg is doing a marvellous job fielding questions and dealing with the likes of Jim Moriarty. Six months later, Jim is caught in a scandal with Sebastian Moran and goes down in disgrace. Karma’s a bitch. John officially fires Ella as his agent. They don’t need her anymore.

It’s a small town and a modest life and they grow to love every minute of it.

•

Greg and Molly have gotten married. Sherlock and John willingly attend the wedding, which takes place on a small private island in the Seychelles. Greg is no longer employed, but they remain good friends.

As they say their vows and the groom kisses the bride, Sherlock turns to look at John, whose eyes are shining with emotion and tears and who claps and claps and rests his arm comfortably along the back of Sherlock’s seat, fingertips brushing lightly against Sherlock’s shoulder.

 _I want this,_ Sherlock thinks. _I want this, with John._

•

It’s nothing fancy. In fact, it’s anything but. John’s coming out of the bathroom, wincing because he threw his back out yesterday, and rubbing a towel through his wet hair.

“Tea?” he asks, yawning.

Sherlock gets down on one knee.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock waits as John spins round, confusion furrowing his brow.

“Are you – my god, Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“John,” Sherlock says, holding up the ring, “will you marry me?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can safely assume that John says yes. However, if anybody has issue with the fact that I left it rather open-ended, I may consider writing an epilogue of some sort. So, comment below if that's something you'd be interested in.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments always appreciated, and please do go check out [my tumblr](http://lostinsherlock.tumblr.com). Hope you are all well x


	2. You Are In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I got a bit carried away. Forgive me. I've changed the chapter count to 3, so this is an intermediary chapter, if you will. I stuck in a bit more plot and dialogue, which hopefully isn't bothersome.
> 
> Thank you for your continued support!
> 
> [Here are the lyrics to Taylor Swift's "You Are In Love."](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/taylorswift/youareinlove.html) Again, I do recommend that you glance over them, because the content of this fic/oneshot (well it's not really a oneshot anymore) references specific lines and phrases of the song.

_Three years previous_

“Do you ever wish we hadn’t?” John asks.

Sherlock gazes up at the sky as orange and gold seep into the horizon to be replaced by the intermediate hue of not-quite-sunset, not-quite-moonrise. They’re standing on the boardwalk in the worshipful hush of late August, John warm against his side. “No,” he says.

“Are you sure? I mean... right now, you could be doing a film.”

A _film?_ Is John really so obtuse that he would think a film could ever take precedence over their relationship? “I would not,” Sherlock says, sounding as horrified as he is.

“Sorry, sorry. You don’t need to get defensive.”

“I’m not. I’m appalled.”

“Why?” John snaps. Snaps? This is upsetting to him, then.

“Because wherever you are... that is where I want to be. We have lived here together for five years and the idea of ever being anyplace else is...” He searches for the right word and finds nothing. “John, suffice to say that without you, I am nothing.”

John turns away and Sherlock’s stomach drops. He’s done it, hasn’t he. He’s said the wrong thing, he’s –

“Look up,” whispers John, and their shoulders brush. The moon is gliding into place in the sky, effortless and smooth. They stare at it for god knows how long, and then John turns back to Sherlock. “You are,” he hesitates, “without a doubt the greatest man I have ever met.”

Relief floods Sherlock as he pulls John to his chest. “Thank you,” he says.

•

John babysits for Harry’s daughter, as a favour. He does like her, except that then five of her friends materialise and it becomes second grade girl hell.

Searching madly around the house for something to keep them occupied, John stumbles across a box of chains, the sort that one makes necklaces with (or so he thinks), and snatches up a packet of metal letter beads. _Genius_ , he thinks to himself. _This’ll occupy them for an hour, at least._

“You should make Sherlock a necklace,” Gracie says, grinning.

“Who’s Sherlock?” another girl queries.

“His _boy_ friend,” Gracie says teasingly. John tenses automatically; Harry lives in a neighbouring town, an equally unassuming, quaint little village, but he can’t forget what coming out did to his previous life.

Without missing a beat, Gracie’s friends say in unison, “ _Ewwww_ , boys have cooties,” and then begin giggling madly.

One of them gives a devilish grin. “Sherlock Watson,” she teased. “Sherlock and Jo-ohn, sitting in a tree –”

John waves them off, though part of him wants to buy them all ice creams or whatever it is that little girls like, because they treat him normally, they accept his boyfriend, they don’t even question, and that... that is something he has never allowed himself to dream of, and now it’s a reality, and it’s as if a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders by the collective effort of six eight-year-old girls.

On a whim, he reaches for a chain and digs around in the bag of beads. There are only a handful left, and while he had intended to spell out Sherlock’s name or some other cute phrase, he’s missing half the letters.

“Here.” Gracie hands him two beads, a J and a W.

“No, that’s alright,” he says. “It’d be a bit weird if I gave Sherlock a necklace with my initials on it.”

“No it’s not,” she insists. “You can just wear it yourself, then. Or toss it in the rubbish bin. You do that every time we do friendship bracelets.”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do. It’s only ‘cause yours look so bad.”

“Excuse me, my friendship bracelets are _fabulous_  –”

“Whatever,” she says airily, and prances off.

—

That night, Sherlock comes home in a Mood. He’s stroppy and arrogant and whiny and petulant and rebuffs John. It’s not unusual behaviour: much as their relationship can be wonderful and loving, they bicker like there’s no tomorrow, and occasionally Sherlock shuts down completely.

He curls up in his armchair and turns his back on John. John hesitates before cautiously going over.

“That position can’t possibly be comfortable,” he ventures, and gets a grunt in response. “Hey, I babysat Gracie today.” Silence. “Right. I’ll leave you alone, then.” He’s just walking away when Sherlock suddenly reaches out and grabs onto his hand, squeezing it so hard that it’s nearly painful. “Oi, don’t break my hand, yeah?” John allows himself to be tugged closer. “Sherlock. You okay?”

Sherlock slowly raises his head, strange look on his face. He pauses, then says, “John. You are my best friend.”

Something stirs in John then. He thinks he knows what it is, but... it can’t be. It lingers on the tip of his tongue, refusing to spill because he knows how much Sherlock abhors trite phrases and meaningless words. Things have changed. They said it, in their old life. Since moving, however, it’s never come up. Part of him worries that it was just puppy love. They were drunk on hormones, still wet behind the ears, caught up in the drama of a quasi-forbidden relationship. Their life now is different. Separate, almost. A new world. So instead, he nods and raises Sherlock’s hand slowly to his lips, planting a kiss in the palm. “Thanks,” he whispers. When Sherlock doesn’t say anything, just stares at John as if in some sort of trance, he hesitates before reaching into his pocket. “Um. I made something. With Gracie. It’s... it’s silly, but I dunno, I thought maybe you’d like it. You can just bin it if you want.”

Sherlock shakes his head slightly, coming out of whatever reverie he was in, and raises an eyebrow. “Mm.”

John withdraws the necklace. “It has my initials, which doesn’t make any sense, but I just, I meant to make it say your name, except there weren’t enough letters, so I didn’t know...”

“I love it.”

Well, _that’s_ not a phrase John’s ever heard fall from his boyfriend’s mouth.

“Of course,” Sherlock says quietly, sensing John’s surprise.

John nods. “Here,” he says, and leans forward, clasping it around Sherlock’s neck. His initials glimmer in the light, silver against alabaster skin.

Sherlock places a hand over the beads protectively. “It is... I appreciate the gesture.”

“No problem.”

There it is, that strange look again. John wonders. Oh, how he wonders.

•

Sherlock has never taken the necklace off. It feels as if John is with him, all the time. He normally despises jewellry. But John is the exception, the wonderful exception, to everything. And so he holds onto it, even when he needs to isolate himself, even when he is angry or upset or bored or inexplicably anxious.

He has never understood why and how people attach such ridiculous meaning to material things. Now he does.

•

Romantic gestures are admittedly rare. Sherlock whispers things to John at night, he sometimes wraps his arm around John’s waist in public, and they both bask in the glow of peace. No more paparazzi. No more hate. But he would not be considered a romantic person by any means.

Which is why John is shocked when he comes home to a candlelit dinner one evening.

“Um... hi,” he says. “What are you doing?”

“I made you dinner.”

“Why...?”

“I believe it is something that couples do, is it not?” Sherlock pulls out the chair for John and takes his coat.

“No... well, not couples like us.”

Sherlock looks blankly at him.

“Never mind. Er. This is – this is nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

•

“I love you,” breathes Sherlock, tapping the words against John’s hip in Morse code one night. He isn’t even sure if John hears him, and immediately regrets saying it. They have not uttered those words since the move. He worries that what they felt then was borne only of passion and impulsivity. Perhaps John does not feel the same. He cannot feel the same. Sherlock is not someone to be loved. He is to be tolerated, his company even enjoyed, but not loved.

John turns around to face Sherlock, eyes opening to reveal beautiful blue eyes that gaze at him ardently. “Me too, you berk,” he says, and smiles against Sherlock’s lips.

•

_And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars // And why I've spent my whole life trying to put it into words..._

•

_Three years later_

John’s world is falling apart in the more wonderful way. His heart lurches madly and he has to place the tea kettle on the table before he drops it.

Struggling to keep his voice even, he says, “No.”

Sherlock freezes, mouth opening and closing.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” John says hurriedly. “Yes, of course, a thousand times yes,” and then his arms are full of Sherlock and they’re both trembling and crying and this is the best kind of overwhelm John has ever felt.

“John,” Sherlock says breathlessly, once they’ve both calmed down a bit. There’s that strange expression on his face, the one that John can feel across the room, and he has never loved anyone more.

“I love you,” he says, beaming.

•

_'Cause you can hear it in the silence_

_You can feel it on the way home_

_You can see it with the lights out_

_You are in love, true love_

_You're in love_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated!
> 
> You can totally follow me on my [tumblr](http://lostinsherlock.tumblr.com) too *nudge nudge wink wink* I'm not super active there, truth be told, because my life is crazy, but I always post fic updates.
> 
> Epilogue to follow. That is, unless I decide to add another chapter.
> 
> PS We found out that I partially dislocated my hip. Fun times.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments always appreciated, and please do go check out [my tumblr](http://lostinsherlock.tumblr.com). Hope you are all well x


End file.
